


in succession of your heroes

by itisjosh



Series: onlypain [58]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brothers, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, NO ONE LIKES THAT BITCH!!, Past Character Death, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, arguably a happy ending, fuck dsmp!dream, part two of my "TOMMY FUCKING DIES" series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29813778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisjosh/pseuds/itisjosh
Summary: "I can't let you stay here, though. You know that," Wilbur sounds exhausted, he sounds so unbelievably tired. Tommy wonders if he feels just like him. "You're not meant for death, Tommy," Wilbur tells him, a smile in his voice. "You're meant for living.""It doesn't feel like it," Tommy laughs, bitterly. "It doesn't feel like I'm meant for fucking anything."
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: onlypain [58]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027711
Comments: 11
Kudos: 209





	in succession of your heroes

**Author's Note:**

> continuation to "the city of asthma"! set about a week after that fic btw :)

Being dead, Tommy learns, is much more exhausting than he thought it would be. He sits in the middle of a flower field, watching as the goldenrods sway in the breeze. Being dead hurts, it's exhausting and awful and it makes his head spin and his chest hurt, but he can't do anything about it. Tommy looks up, watching as a flock of birds soar above him, disappearing a few moments later. He breathes out, leaning back, tilting his head up and closing his eyes. Being dead hurts a lot more than he thought it would. Dying hurt a lot more than he remembered it hurting. Tommy wonders how Tubbo is holding up, and he realises half a second later that that's a stupid question. Tubbo isn't holding up well at all, surely he isn't. Tommy remembers watching Tubbo die at the hands of Techno, and he remembers breaking down into tears nearly immediately when he watched his best friend crumple to the ground, burnt and broken. When Tubbo died, Tommy started to hurt immediately, he barely managed to get himself together in time before Tubbo woke up. Tommy tried his best to fix himself and calm himself down so he could be there for his best friend, but it barely, _barely_ worked. Now, Tommy thinks, who the hell is going to be there for Tubbo?

Tommy opens his eyes at the sound of footsteps, tilting his head to the side to see the person who's decided to come and say hello to him this time. He breathes out in silent relief when he sees Wilbur, watching his older brother sit down next to him. Wilbur doesn't say anything, he just drags one of his legs up to his chest, leaning back, his hands buried in the grass, covered by flowers. Wilbur doesn't look anything like Ghostbur, Tommy thinks to himself as he stares at his older brother for a second longer. His hair isn't as long, he's not wearing that stupid yellow jumper. He's wearing his Pogtopia coat, the one he found at the bottom of the ravine. His hair pokes out from his grey beanie, and his eyes burn with a fire that Tommy hasn't seen ever since they lost L'manberg for the first time, when they were exiled together. Wilbur doesn't look anything like Ghostbur, and although Tommy remembers feeling nothing but anger towards his older brother when he died, when he went insane, he can't help but feel entirely relieved that he's not Ghostbur. He's glad that Wilbur is Wilbur, not some amnesiac ghost who tried to pretend like his problems didn't exist. 

Wilbur says nothing, he just sits there, and Tommy is thankful for that. He doesn't want to talk right now, not yet, at least. Being dead is so tiring, and Tommy has barely been able to even muster up the energy to keep his eyes open ever since he died. He stares back up into the sky, watching as the clouds drift across the pale blue, disappearing and fading out of sight, which he doesn't remember happening in the real world. Most of the things in this world are the same as the living world, but certain things are just a little off, barely, but just noticeable enough to remind Tommy that he's not alive. That he's dead. Tommy didn't think he was going to die, he never thought he would actually, truly die. Tommy thought that he would live for as long as he could, that after he finally defeated Dream, he'd be okay. He was wrong, Tommy thinks bitterly to himself. He was so fucking wrong. Tommy thought that he would be okay, and then he wasn't okay at all. Tommy watches as the same flock of birds come back, their wings beating in succession with one another. They fly off a few moments later, disappearing just out of Tommy's vision. 

Being dead is exhausting and it's so, so unbelievably painful. He feels his entire body ache, wincing, suppressing a cry that tries to escape past his lips. His entire body hurts all the time, constantly aching, constantly feeling broken. A constant reminder of how he died, of what happened to him. Wilbur said that it's the same with his chest and stomach, that there are days where he can't even stand up without doubling over in pain because of how bad it is. Wilbur said that it gets better, though. Wilbur told him that it'll eventually get better, that Tommy won't notice it nearly as much as he does right now. Tommy believes him, but he thinks that's only because he always believes everything that comes out Wilbur's mouth, and he knows that he shouldn't, but he can't help it, not right now. Not when his life has been ripped away from him, not when he has no one else to believe. Wilbur's words are the only thing that he can hold onto right now, and Tommy doesn't intend on letting go of them. He's terrified of what will happen if he lets go, he's terrified of what might happen to him if he doesn't have anything or anyone to grab onto. 

Tommy closes his eyes, screwing up his face as he feels the wind breeze over him, ruffling his hair. He listens to the wind move Wilbur's trench coat, opening one eye to watch as it soars up in the air for a brief moment before it settles back down against the grass. The goldenrods sway in the breeze a little faster now, moving back and forth just a little quicker than they previously had been. Tommy looks over at Wilbur, who has his head tilted back, his eyes half-lidded, nearly shut. He looks peaceful, his mind doesn't look like it's been fogged over. His eyes aren't glazed over at all, he's fully, entirely, here. There's something sort of like pain on Wilbur's face, his lips twisted up in a melancholy grimace, his eyes pained and hurt. When Tommy first saw his older brother here, when he first ran to him and collapsed to the ground, Wilbur was in shock. Wilbur looked terrified, he looked like he saw the worst thing in the world. He kept repeating a phrase over and over again, constantly saying the same words, nearly driving Tommy to the brink of madness with how often the words were said. 

_You're not supposed to be here._

Tommy wasn't supposed to die, apparently. He sobbed into Wilbur's arms, very much so dead anyways, and listened to his older brother cry, murmuring soft words of reassurance that didn't really do much. Tommy sighs, breathing out as he watches the sky move and shift, just enough to be noticable, just enough to make him remember that he's not alive. He's dead. Tommy is dead, he's gone and he's dead, he's not home. Tommy is dead, and that's how it's going to stay. He shifts a little, resting his head against Wilbur's shoulder. His older brother says nothing, he just lets him do it. Tommy bites down on his lip, squeezing his eyes shut as he realises, for the first time since he got here, that he's actually dead. Tommy is dead. He can't go back home. He'll never be able to hug Tubbo again or punch him in the shoulder or tell him to fuck off, or whatever it was that he did. Tommy is dead. He's never going to be able to mock Phil or bother Techno or make fun of Fundy, or talk to Ranboo about something, or anything like that. Tommy isn't ever going to be able to do anything that he used to love doing, and that's all because he's somewhere where none of his friends can reach him without giving everything up. 

"Will?" Tommy murmurs, feeling something like a deep sadness settle into his chest as he realises that he will never be able to see anyone else that he loves without them dying. Without them giving up their lives. "Does it get easier?" He asks, moving back a little, turning his head so he can actually look at the other. "This whole..all of this?" Tommy makes a vague hand gesture that doesn't really actually mean anything, and judging by the way Wilbur's lips tug up into a small smile, he assumes that Wilbur realises that. "Dying, I mean. Being dead. Does that get easier?" Tommy hates how hopeful he sounds, he hates the way his voice pitches. Tommy shouldn't be hopeful at all, there's nothing for him to be hopeful about. Hope, Tommy thinks to himself, has gotten him nowhere. Hope is a concept, one that he would love to believe in, but the more time goes on, the more he lives and breathes and experiences, he can't bring himself to want to believe in it anymore. Somehow, though, somehow he always manages to find himself believing anyways. 

Because without hope, what is there?

"Not really," Wilbur tells him, looping an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Tommy lets him, not resisting at all. He thinks that, as much as he hates to admit it, even to himself, he might need the touch. He might need the comfort. Just this one time. "It's a little easier with other people," Wilbur murmurs, his voice soft. "It's not that easy, though. It hurts a lot, there are some days where you just want to go insane and break down screaming and crying," he sighs, sounding like he's joking in that way that means he's being serious. "Sometimes there are days where you can't even move. Being dead doesn't really get any easier," Wilbur admits to him, sounding like he's being entirely honest. He probably is. Tommy doesn't think that his older brother has lied to him once since he got here. "You shouldn't have to go through that very long, though. I'm going to get you out of here."

Tommy looks down at the grass, picking at the blades, biting down on his lower lip. "And if you can't?" Tommy asks, turning to look over at Wilbur once again. "What happens if I'm dead for real? What happens if I'm gone for real, Will? What happens if you can't get me out of this place? What happens if you can't get me to come back to life?" Tommy asks, closing his eyes for a few seconds. "I think that I'm gone for real, Will. I think that I'm gone for real, I don't think that..I don't think that I'm going to go back home. I think that I'm gone. Wilbur," he pauses, swallowing, feeling his words stick in his throat. "I don't think that I'm going to get to go back home. I think that this is..I think that this is where I.." Tommy breathes out. "This is it, I think. This is the final stop, isn't it? This is my last stop. Our last stop." 

Wilbur is silent, turning his head away for a moment. "I'm going to get you out of here," he repeats. "I'm not going to let you stay here. I'm sorry, Tommy," Wilbur looks back at him, his eyes sad, his lips turned downwards, brought in a tight frown. "But you can't stay here," Wilbur shakes his head, a soft smile replacing his frown. "You're not meant to be here, and I'm not going to..I'm not going to let you stay. You're going to have to leave," he pauses, trailing off for a few seconds, not saying anything for what feels like years. "For now," Wilbur clears his throat, pulling Tommy closer to him. "For now, though..I'm glad that I got to see you again," Wilbur smiles at him, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Just..don't get too comfortable, okay? You're going to go. You can't stay here for long." Tommy closes his eyes, resting his head against Wilbur's shoulder. He knows that the words are supposed to be comforting, but they're not. 

"I don't think I want to go back," Tommy admits in a whisper, moving closer to his older brother. "Will, I don't think that I want to go back," he shakes his head, looking up at him. "I don't..when I go back, I'll be in the place where I died..right? And if I'm there, if I'm there with _him_..I don't think that I could do it, Wilbur. I don't think that I could do that, I think I'd go insane. I think I'd lose my mind. If I ever have to see his face again, I..I don't..I.." Tommy trails off, feeling tears well up in his eyes, not entirely sure why he feels like he's about to cry. He didn't even say _his_ name. He forces himself to breath, reaching out to grab at Wilbur's hand. If it was any other time, he'd be beating himself up, making fun of himself for being so fucking stupid and weak that he's got to reach out and hold his brother's hand. But it's not any other time, and right now, Tommy is weak and stupid, and that's..that's okay. He's allowed to be weak and stupid, just right now. Right now, he can be weak. Right now, he can be stupid. "Will, I don't want to go back there. I don't want to get hurt anymore." 

"I know," Wilbur murmurs, rubbing his arm. "I know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Tommy. I'm really, really sorry," he pauses, resting his head against Tommy's. Tommy thinks that it's stupid that he's letting Wilbur be this fucking close to him, but he can't bring himself to care. He feels like a child right now, he feels like he's eight and he's just gotten back home from a fight that he's lost. Tommy snorts, bitter and hurt. He sort of has, he thinks. "I can't let you stay here, though. You know that," Wilbur sounds exhausted, he sounds so unbelievably tired. Tommy wonders if he feels just like him. "You're not meant for death, Tommy," Wilbur tells him, a smile in his voice. "You're meant for living."

"It doesn't feel like it," Tommy laughs, bitterly. "It doesn't feel like I'm meant for fucking anything, Will. I don't think I'm meant for anything, not really," he admits, shifting to look at his brother. "I don't think I'm actually meant for anything, if I'm being entirely honest. I'm not a..I'm.." he trails off, looking down at the grass below him. "What am I good for, really? I can't think of anything, Will. I'm not good for anything, I'm not meant for living. I'm so sick and tired of living and being dead, I'm so sick and tired of _being_. How am I supposed to be expected to live when I can't even do a good job of being dead?"

Wilbur laughs, sounding significantly less upset than Tommy does. "No, Tommy," Wilbur sighs, shaking his head a few times. He stands up, offering Tommy a hand. The goldenrods sway all around them, and Tommy notices the glimpse of blue bells that litter Wilbur's coat. Against his chest are entire clumps of them, making up a line in his stomach, reaching all the way up to his chest. Tommy blinks, narrowing his eyes sharply. He looks down at himself, gasping at the sight of goldenrods that litter his body. He hadn't even noticed them before, what the fuck? "Look at you, golden boy," Wilbur grins, and Tommy can't help but laugh at the stupid nickname he's been given. Of course Wilbur would find a way to make this redeemable. Of course he would, he's fucking _Wilbur_ , Wilbur _always_ manages to figure out how to make things okay again. He always has, and Tommy thinks that he always will. "You're meant for hope and living and everything good in the world, Tommy. You've always been the protagonist," Tommy reaches up, taking Wilbur's hand. His brother pulls him to his feet, and Tommy watches as the goldenrods stick to him, not even moving at all. "And guess what, Tommy?"

Tommy can't help but smile. He lets go of Wilbur's hand, brushing back his hair, feeling petals fall out of his hair. Tommy wonders how long he's had goldenrods, he wonders if he's had them ever since he died. "What, Will?" Wilbur beams, bright and happy. It makes Tommy want to do the same, and he wonders if that's just because of how often he feels like he wants to mimic his older brother. Wilbur's always had a way of doing that - of making everyone else happy even in their darkest moments. Wilbur always has fucking done this, every single time Tommy was ever sad, up until Pogtopia, Wilbur found a way to turn his mood entirely around. 

"Main characters don't die," Wilbur grins at him. "Not for very long, at least. You'll be back, okay?" Wilbur starts to walk, and Tommy follows him, feeling tired and exhausted and sort of bitter and hurt, but also hopeful. 

He's hopeful. It's been far too long since he's felt hopeful, he thinks. 

"Okay, Will," Tommy grins, shoving his hands in his pockets as he turns his back on the flower field, never once looking behind him. "You sure you want to get rid of me so soon?" 

Wilbur smiles at him, soft and gentle. "The world needs you, Tommy. Just because you're my little brother doesn't mean I get to keep you here," he sighs. "I might be a fucking asshole, but I'm not that selfish. Not anymore. You need the world, Tommy," Wilbur pauses, halting in his tracks for a moment. "You _deserve_ the world," he corrects himself. "I'm not going to let something like death hinder you from finally getting your freedom and your peace, okay?" Wilbur smiles. "You're meant for living. I'm going to make sure that you get to do that. Okay, golden boy?" 

Tommy ducks his head, grinning a bit, even though the words sort of feel like punches to the gut. He'd know. "Okay, Will. Okay."

Until he's thrown back to the living world, though, Tommy thinks that he's content to stay here for as long as he can.


End file.
